


Support

by lunarlychallenged



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Support Group AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 07:47:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15214460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunarlychallenged/pseuds/lunarlychallenged
Summary: Most of the support happened when it ended, not when it was in session.





	Support

You didn’t like sitting in circles. Most of the teachers you’d had would set up the chairs in circles when they wanted to seem hip or relatable, and it never worked. It just meant that there was nowhere to look that didn’t lead to somebody thinking you were watching them.

Support group was no different. A circle of teenagers, talking or not talking about their problems. An adult, hoping to lead to a breakthrough that probably involved crying. You, not caring too much about either.

That wasn’t to say that you didn’t like some of the kids. You liked Jack and Crutchie, both of whom were in the group of foster kids that were required to attend. You liked JoJo, who was a member of the church that held the meetings. You weren’t sure if he needed support or if he was there to give it, but you liked him regardless. You liked Katherine, whose parents had her attend in an attempt to “curb her rebellious streak.” You liked the people, but you didn’t think that a support group was helping any of them too much. 

When you walked into the church basement, Crutchie grinned at you. He patted the seat next to him. “Pop a squat.”

You did, and Race sat on your other side. 

“Alright, cookie predictions,” Crutchie said. “Go.”

“Those sugar cookies with the big grains of sugar on top,” you said immediately.

Race shook his head, as though he was disappointed in you. “Come on, Y/N. Double chocolate chocolate chip.”

“We had those last week,” you argued. “Besides, it’s the old lady that always wears brooches that brings those. I didn’t see her on the way in.”

“I think we’ll have the chewy ones with M&Ms,” Crutchie interrupted. 

You and Race paused. “Yeah,” Race finally said. “That’s a good guess.”

“Speaking of things we haven’t seen,” Katherine said from behind you, “check it out.”

The four of you looked to the doorway, where a new boy stood. He was wiry and long, and he stood casually. Only his twitchy fingers gave away his apprehension about entering the room.

“Fresh meat,” Race said sarcastically.

“Please,” you scoffed. “All of us are here because we aren’t fresh.”

Katherine laughed. “What do you think he’s in for?”

Nobody seemed sure. He didn’t look like a druggie. Usually one of the foster kids would have known if he was one of their group. Whoever he was, he walked to the far side of the circle and sat between two empty chairs.

The woman in charge of the group sat in the largest chair. She introduced herself at the beginning of the meeting each week, but you forgot her name as soon as you realized that everybody just called her Sister.

“We have a new friend here this week,” she said pleasantly. “Patrick, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“My name isn’t Patrick,” new boy said.

“That’s what I have on my attendance sheet,” Sister said. 

“My name is whatever I respond to, right?” His jaw was set, ready to fight her on it. “My name is Finch.”

“I’m sorry, but we only use given names here.”

“Finch is the name I gave myself,” he tried, but it was to no avail. Sister continued to call him Patrick. She tried to wheedle his story out of him, but he said nothing more than that he had to be there.

He was easily the most interesting thing about the meeting, though that wasn’t saying much.

After the meeting ended, all of the attendees were free to graze at a table of cookies and lemonade.

“Oatmeal raisin,” you said glumly.

Race sighed. “You’d think old ladies would be trying to fatten us up, not starve us.”

Finch walked over and took one. When the two of you stared at him, surprised, his chewing slowed. “What?”

“You’re poisoning yourself,” Race said. 

“That is the literal worst kind of cookie,” you added.

Finch shrugged. “Better than no cookie, right?”

It was an arguable point, but you let it slide. “So, why are you here?”

“Because I have to be,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“It’s a probation requirement. I got caught shoplifting,” Race said. He was grinning, unrepentant. The only thing he regretted was getting caught.

“My parents wanted me to make new friends,” you said.

“With criminals,” Race said. “Her parents are very open-minded.”

You laughed. “My therapist said that I needed to get out and socialize more. My parents thought that a group of teenagers being forced to talk was the perfect place.”

Finch smiled, grabbing another cookie. “What is this a support group for?”

“People who need support, I guess.” You weren’t exactly sure. Maybe it was just a way to get people to talk about their problems; to make sure nobody slipped through the cracks. Whatever the point of it was, you had never been sure it worked. “Do you need support, Finch?”

He sighed. “I need to do what I’m told, so I can do whatever else I want.”

You could accept that. Wasn’t that why everybody else showed up?

 

 

“Patrick,” Sister said.

Finch studiously picked dirt from under his fingernails.

“Patrick.”

“What kind of cookies do you think we’ll have today?” Finch didn’t bother whispering the question to you. He was making a point.

“I’m still thinking those sugar cookies,” you said.

“Patrick.” Sister was smiling, but she was not happy.

“I’ll take whatever I can get,” he said pleasantly.

“Actually,” Sister said loudly, “let’s go around the circle and talk about our weeks. Y/N, you start, and we’ll go clockwise around the circle.”

That would make Finch the next person to talk. The two of you had to fight down broad grins. She would weaken sooner or later.

 

 

A few of the support group kids sat on the church lawn after the meeting ended. Some of you drove, others were waiting for rides. Nobody was in much of a rush.

“I think I’m gonna be switching foster families soon,” Crutchie suddenly said.

All quiet conversation ceased. He hadn’t mentioned it during the meeting. 

“What makes you say that?” Jack’s face had gone stoney.

“They’ve been saying stuff about wanting to start a family,” Crutchie said.

You plastered on a smile. “Maybe they want to adopt you.”

“They’re talking about making a nursery,” he said. He was smiling, but there was nothing cheerful about it. “My room was the spare room, before I came. It’s the only room they could change.”

Silence fell. If he was moved too far away, he wouldn’t be able to come to support group anymore. 

“We’ll all still be friends,” Katherine promised. “You can’t get away that easily.”

“I know,” Crutchie said. “I just - yeah, I know.”

 

 

You and Finch took the same subway, and he had started sitting with you. “Why did everybody look so freaked about what Crutchie said?”

“We like him,” you said simply.

“Well, yeah,” he huffed. “Why wouldn’t you? But why is it such a big deal?”

“Look, we don’t all hang out outside of the meetings. We have each other at the church, and that’s kind of it. I know we complain about going there, but we’re all everybody has, you know?”

He looked thoughtful. “You could start hanging out outside of meetings.”

“We could,” you agreed. “And we might, for Crutchie. It’s just different, and this is the one thing that never seems to change.”

Finch didn’t say much, but when you got to your stop, he quickly wrote his number down on a slip of paper. “So this can change,” he said.

 

 

Y/N: is this the krusty krab

Finch: you are the actual worst

 

 

The pizza guy was a little confused when you asked him to deliver the pizzas to a church lawn, but he didn’t fight you on it.

“This is just a meeting place,” you told him while you handed him the money. Everybody had pooled their cash to buy it, and you were oddly proud about it. “We meet in the church, and the real fun happens outside.

“Sounds cool,” the kid said. You knew he didn’t care, but you were happy. This was what it felt like to be friends with the support group members, not just allies.

Race threw pieces of sausage at people. Katherine dabbed grease off her slices, and everybody ragged on her about it. Jack teased her more than anybody, but you saw the way his leg pressed against hers while they ate. Finch ate six pieces by himself. Elmer dropped his plate facedown on the ground. It was a mess of people laughing at each other and themselves, and everybody wanted to do it again the next week.

You smiled for the rest of the day, unable to stifle the joy of having people of your own.

 

 

A few weeks later, Crutchie announced that he would be moving in with Jack’s foster family. Jack looked pleased, and Katherine looked at him as though he had performed a miracle. She didn’t stop looking at him during the meeting.

 

 

It was funny - when all of you sat on the lawn, you always ended up in a circle. As awful as it seemed inside, you liked seeing everybody outside.

“One of these days,” you said, “we’ll have sugar cookies. I’ll be right, and all of you will eat your words.”

“Being right once doesn’t mean you aren’t a loser,” Race said cheerfully. “The only thing I’ll be eating are your cookies.”

Finch was oddly silent, twisting pieces of grass between his fingers. You nudged him with your foot. “Finch doesn’t think I’m a loser. He thinks I’m cooler than the rest of you.”

“That’s just because your cookie isn’t the only thing he’s interested in,” Albert said.

Katherine gave a shriek of laughter. Everybody else erupted, and you shook your head. 

“Unbelievable. We are sitting outside a church, Al. Jesus hates you now.” You looked to Finch for help, but he hadn’t reacted at all. You wondered if he was even listening. “Finch? Everything okay?”

He shrugged. “Wanna know why I’m here?”

Everybody looked at him, surprised. Sure, you had been curious about why he attended. You just figured that in the long run, it hardly mattered. He came, and that was enough.

“I’m here,” he said, “because I ran away from home when I was eight. I’ve just been bouncing around, living wherever I wanted. A few months ago, one of the workers at the food bank figured out that I was homeless. She made me go home with her, and she threatened to call the cops. She said that she wouldn’t, and that I could stay with her, as long as I came here. It was this, or I would have to go back to my family.”

There was a long pause. It was Jack that broke it. “Why’d you tell us now?”

“My birthday is next month,” Finch said. “Once I’m eighteen, I won’t have to live with her anymore. I won’t have to come here, either.”

Hearing him say it made your chest hurt. You couldn’t breathe. You wanted to tell him that he had to keep coming, but you had no right to say so.

 

 

Y/N: if you leave the group, you still have to eat pizza with us

Finch: I havent decided to leave yet

Y/N: i literally do not care. Im just laying down the law

Finch: we can hang out other places too, you know

Y/N: im holding you to that. Youre stuck with us

Finch: you say that like its a bad thing

Y/N: hold on

Y/N: i forgot who i was talking to

Y/N: is this the krusty krab

Finch: im definitely leaving the group now. You did this to yourself

 

 

Finch asked you to stay back with him for a minute after the meeting right before his birthday. He had his hands behind his back.

“What’s shakin’?” You grinned at him.

He pulled out a small box of sugar cookies. “You’re always saying that we’re going to have these, and we never do. I just thought -”

You gave a bark of laughter. “My hero.”

He flushed. “Hey, if you don’t want them -”

“I want them,” you said, snatching them away. “You can have one, though.”

He bit into one, masking his smile. “I want more than one.”

“Ah, you beggers. Always wanting more than your fair share. Work for your food, lazybones,” you chided lightly.

“I bought them!”

You waved off his words, then paused. “Wait. Is this how you’re saying goodbye?”

He blinked at you, surprised. “What do you mean?”

“Your birthday is this week. You don’t have to come back. Is this your way of saying goodbye to me?” You scowled. Months of friendship, ended over a box of cookies. You deserved at least two boxes.

“What? No!” He gaped at you, looking almost ready to laugh. “Y/N, are you serious? No!”

“Then what is this?”

“Can’t a guy buy his friend some cookies?” When you still looked suspicious, he sighed. “Look, I just - I want to see you outside of the meetings.”

“We do,” you said. You ate pizza. You sometimes got coffee at a shop near your apartment on the way home. You texted all the time. 

“Jesus, you aren’t making this easy,” he griped. “I like you. Like, like you-like you. I want to hang out with you, and I want to buy your food when we do. When the others tease me about liking you, I want to be like, ‘usually people like the person they date.’”

You gaped at him, chest aching again. This wasn’t like when he said he might leave. It hurt, but in a really nice way. You couldn’t breathe, but you didn’t miss the oxygen. “You bought me cookies because you like me?”

“Yes,” he said. He looked relieved, like he thought you would misinterpret his words. Like he hadn’t said everything you needed to know, everything you had wanted him to say.

“In that case,” you said, “you can definitely have another cookie.”

He gave you a cautious grin while he took another. “Does that mean you’re okay with it? You’re okay with going out with me?”

“That depend on one thing - is this the Krusty Krab?”

He groaned. “I’m not saying it.”

“C’mon.”

“I will say literally anything else,” he said. He was laughing, eyes lighting up.

“I’m going to wear you down,” you promised. “I’m going to date you so hard, you’ll have to say it.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said. He held your hand when you walked outside, glowing when the others teased you about it. His grip didn’t loosen, and his happiness didn’t wane. You had never seen him look this happy, but you thought that you could keep him this way. You would definitely keep him this way.


End file.
